Cracking Candied Hearts
by The-First-Step
Summary: 12 years ago Charlie's Aunt Viv returned home under mysterious circumstances. She has been Charlie's protector and confidante ever since. She remains haunted by a dark past, but could a chance opportunity with a certain chocolatier may help heal her broken heart? WW/OC pairing. Follows the 1971 film events.


Chapter 1

 _All recognisable characters are the property of Roald Dahl and Mel Stuart (director of the film Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory) - only Genevieve is mine. This will follow the sequence (generally) of the 1971 film – maybe with some adaptations/liberties of my own._

 **OOOOOOOOOO**

If she hadn't been within an inch of freezing to death, Genevieve would have laughed at the pathetic fallacy of her situation. It was exactly her type of luck, or particular brand of lunacy, to pick the dead of winter as the perfect time to leave him. Stumbling on sleet-slick stones, she braced herself against a lamp-post, her chest heaving and her breath scratching at her throat like nails. The chill of the metal bit through her gloves but she ignored it as she squinted into the darkness ahead. Through the rain she could just make out the yawning mouth of a side street. It was so familiar and yet so alien. Her heart yearned to take those final steps... but she paused. Now that she'd finally stopped. Now that the panic had faded, Genevieve felt her heart throb painfully within her chest. She shouldn't do this, not now, not after so many years. Would they even take her back? A choked sob burst from her cracked lips. As she licked them, Genevieve realised she could still taste blood on them. She wiped at her lips and cheek, wincing. Shaking off her doubts she took a step forward. She'd have to try. She had nowhere else to go. There had been no time to think when she'd left and as cold as she was, as miserable as it was out in this blizzard, it was still better than staying there. Each step felt heavy as a mountain but she kept forcing her feet forward, hunching her shoulders against the icy blasts that seemed determined to drive themselves straight through to her bones. Reaching the entrance to the street made the wind abate slightly, but the rain was relentless. She staggered forward, clutching at the small suitcase in her hand and tripped on the small step at the house. Steadying herself against the frame, Genevieve swore under her breath as the movement inside stilled.

"What was that?" A familiar, female voice asked. Genevieve could have wept with relief. She was at least in the right place – the old landlord had been a wryly bastard and she'd half doubted he'd given her the right address. She raised a hand to knock, but shied back as the wooden portal was thrown open and light spilled out onto the street. Looking up, her eyes watered.

"Helen, I can explain..." She started, before a warm body thrust itself at her. She felt the breath whoosh out of her as strong arms wrapped themselves around her and squeezed, as though she'd disappear if they didn't. Helen was shaking violently and it took Genevieve a moment to realise it was because she was crying. Tears started falling from her own eyes as she embraced her sister-in-law tightly.

"I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry!" She whispered but Helen shushed her.

"Come inside before you catch your death!" She commanded and Genevieve stepped gratefully into the warmth and light of the small house. Keeping the hood of her jumper up to conceal her face, she scanned the room on instinct. It was dimly lit, except for the fire in a stove by the side and a few lanterns scattered about. A brass bed stood in the centre of the room, and in it lay four people she recognised immediately. They were stirring from sleep, looking around as an icy draft moved through the small room. Helen quicly moved to close the door, sealing in the meagre warmth.

"Who is it Helen?" Another familiar voice called. Helen moved to take her suitcase and smiled at her.

"Family, Jo." She whispered and Genevieve sobbed. Helen grasped her shoulder, the sore one, and squeezed gently. Genevieve tried not to wince. She tried not to think about why it was sore, why every bone in her body ached her.

"Papa, it's me." Genevieve choked out, wrapping her arms around herself as she braced for the words she knew were coming. They never came.

"Genni?" She looked up finally, throwing back the hood as she did so. The meagre light finally illuminated her face and her parents gasped.

"My baby!" Josphine murmured, throwing her arms wide. Genevieve couldn't resist anymore, she stumbled forward and threw herself into their waiting arms. They were all crying now. And that's when she heard it, a small, warbling cry from above. She lifted her head.

"What-" Helen smiled, her eyes watering.

"Come meet your nephew, Charlie." She said and withdrew to a small bed by the stove, where a small figure had been lying. The infant was silent now, in his mother's arms, and Genevieve felt her chest squeeze tight. She held out her arms instinctively. Helen deposited the small boy into them. Looking down Genevieve was overwhelmed by the love she felt for the little being in her hands. His perfect golden curls, those dark lashes. She lifted a small hand, pressing a kiss to the tiny fingers.

"Hello Charlie, I'm your Aunty Viv." She whispered, sitting down on the bed and holding him close. She lowered her voice even more, so that only he could hear her.

"And I promise you, no one will ever harm you."

 **OOOOOOOOOOOO**

When she thought about it, Genevieve was surprised that 12 years seemed to fly by so quickly. Watching Charlie grow up, a spitting image of his father, was as interesting as it was painful. Charles, her brother, had passed away months before Charlie was born and Genevieve mourned him and the fact that he'd never know that she'd finally returned. And without him, there had been some very hard years. Helen had never gone on to college and Genevieve's music and languages weren't enough to land her more than a few tutoring jobs a week. But it was all they had, for a time. Then, when Charlie was old enough to be left alone with his Grandparents, Helen returned to work, opening a laundry not far from their home. The money had flowed better then, but not by much. However, even with the cold, the hunger and the long working days, Genevieve was happy. Well, of a sort. There were some things you just never healed from, she supposed.

She had just finished with a client, a bratty teenager who professed a want to learn piano, when she heard the bells signal the end of the school day. She'd been engrossed in her lesson and they'd startled her. A bolt of fear ran through her like an electric current and she lept to her feet, looking around hurriedly... only to find her student gazing back at her in alarm. Stilling her racing heart, Genevieve had tried to smile.

"I'm so sorry Jamila. I think that's enough practice for today." She'd said shakily, watching as the brunette nodded, grabbed her bag and hurried out of the music room. Genevieve set about closing-up. She'd been fortunate enough to acquire permission to use the school's music rooms for some of her lessons, which at least stopped her from having to walk all over town to people's houses (Lord knew she couldn't afford the bus), but she'd yet to become familiar with those damned bells. Angry with herself, for letting the fear overtake her (again) she walked to the office. Mrs Winston smiled at her from behind thick glasses, her greying hair piled atop her head in a style Genevieve was sure had gone out of fashion in the 60s.

"Come to collect your cheque, Miss Bucket?" She said and Genevieve nodded. The woman reached into her filing cabinet, drawing out a small white envelope and handed it to her.  
"Thank you, Mrs Winston." She murmured and the woman wished her a pleasant weekend. Genevieve pocketed the envelope and walked out into the sunshine.

With the end of school came her favourite time of the day. Walking home with Charlie had become something of a ritual for them, so she tightened her scarf around her neck and made for the quad. Children were running everywhere, like ants scurrying over their mound, but it was an organised sort of chaos. She watched them rush off to the bus stop, the bike stand or – as some were want to do – past the gates and around to Bill's Candy Shop. A moment later she spotted a blonde boy come walking out of another building. His pace was more measured then those of his peers, his shoulders slightly more slumped. She bit her lip. Helen and her had tried to give Charlie as much of a normal childhood as they could, but it would likely never be enough. Genevieve felt the shame of it bite at her every day. If only she'd used her talents better, taken so many better opportunities, come home sooner, she might have given them all a life they deserved. But she hadn't. As Charlie caught sight of her, Genevieve covered her anger and waved. He raced over.

"Hi Aunty Viv!" He called and she ruffled his hair.

"Hello Charlie, you ready to head home?" She asked and he shook his head. She blinked in surprise.

"Not today Aunty Viv, it's my paper run day today.' He said and Genevieve smiled at his excitement. She'd forgotten entirely about his paper runs, which he ran on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays and Sundays.

"Ah, run along then." She murmured, straightening his coat.

"' _He who is without a newspaper is cut off from his species_.'"

Charlie laughed. He blew her a kiss and ran off, towards Bill's Candy Shop she noticed, and Genevieve stuffed her hands into her pockets. Ambling to the gate she made her way down the street towards the bank, where she cashed the cheque she'd just received and withdrew last week's (minus 10%), as she'd done every week since she'd started working. Money in hand, she stopped by a convenience store to grab 6 eggs. Helen would have to have a feast tonight, to celebrate Charlie's first pay cheque, so even though they were a luxury, the eggs would be a welcome break up to the monotomy of cabbage soup. She walked home, kicking at leaves, when a delicious scent caught her nose. She paused, as she always did, and turned to look up at the factory. Wonka's Factory. Not a sole could be seen, of course, but the amazing aromas that wafted from the place seemed to give it life. Nothing dead or deserted could smell that good. She leaned her head against the cool bars of the gate, gazing up at the factory as though Wonka himself might suddenly appear. She'd been raised on her father's stories of working with the man when he was younger. They'd enchanted her, just as they enchanted Charlie now. The man was, quite simply a genius. She made to turn away, when a glimmer of light caught her eye. She stared. A light had switched on, in one of the office buildings. Then, as soon as she registered that it was on, it flicked off again. She smirked.

"So you are still there after all, Mr Wonka.' She murmured.

"Talking to yourself again Genevieve?" A snarky voice called out behind her. With a sigh, she turned to see her former classmate, Alissa Avery, standing with a perambulator on the footpath. On the other side of the street, a gaggle of women, some she recognised from their same school, stood waiting. Their faces were alight with either curiosity or outright expectation. Genevieve hid her smarting heart and smiled brightly in the face of the Alissa's derision. With too practiced ease, she shrunk against herself, hunching her shoulders.

"Hello Alissa, pleasant day isn't it?" She remarked, staring up into the overcast sky.

"For ducks... and lunatics clearly." Alissa retorted with a laugh. Genevieve closed her eyes and sighed. Gripping her bag tightly, she stepped to the side of the gate, one eye on Alissa.

" _The most fearless hearts, the most audacious dreamers, have always maintained a sense of optimism that often flies in the face of the available evidence."_ She quoted idly, twirling her fingers in a lazy wave.

"And you seem perfectly at ease in the realm of make believe. Lord, no wonder he left you, who'd want that kind of madness at close quarters?" The other ladies tittered. She exaggerated drawing her pram away, her face a mime of horror.

"I hope it's not catching." Genevieve kept her temper under control, moving to walk past her. Just a few minutes more.

"Farewell Alissa." She muttered, drawing her coat more firmly around her.

"I do worry about that nephew of yours. Charlie, right? Poor thing looks like he'd weigh 10 pounds soaking wet, imagine if his mind went the same way as yours... I'm sure the CPS would..." Genevieve froze, drawing herself up to her full height. She whirled to face Alissa, her eyes blazing.

"Don't you EVER speak of him! He's worth more than the whole pack of you." She shouted, stepped towards her and glaring at each one. They shied away, some even taking a step back. Alissa's face blanched.

"Be warned, if I see you so much as look sideways at Charlie, I'll make you regret it!" She whispered, she pointed a finger at Alissa, watching with no small sense of satisfaction as the woman's eyes widened even further. Nodding, Genevieve turned on her heel and marched away down the street. She didn't look back, not until she'd walked two more blocks. Then she sank down on her hunches, her head in her hands. Brilliant. Just brilliant. Now they'd run back to their husbands and friends, they'd just start the rumour mill all over again. Her breath came hard as she fought down the overwhelming sense of panic. What if that was enough to make someone call the police? Or worse, the CPS? What if they turned up at her home? What if they did take Charlie? Her mind spun, she fought to keep breathing, to clear her thoughts but they just kept coming, on and on. She wanted to scream but her mouth wouldn't open. A hand closed on her shoulder. She did scream this time, right into the face of a hapless man who stepped back in alarm. She whirled away from him, not hearing his words of concern. She ran, down the street and past the lamp-post, through the alleyway and past her house. She stopped and leant against the slimy wall, leaning her head back and gazing at the sky.

"Idiot, idiot, idiot." She muttered, banging her head gently against the brickwork. She stayed like that until she heard a pattering of footsteps. She look to the side to see Charlie pelting down the alley way. He stopped short at the sight of her, a strange expression on his face.

"You will not believe the day I've had.' He said and Genevieve smiled. She dusted off her coat and went to him, curling an arm around his warm shoulders. He was there, he was ok.

"You'll have to tell me all about it then." She said and Charlie nodded. He went to speak but a loud rumbling interupted him, they both laughed.

"Looks like it will have to wait until after dinner though." She remarked and he blushed. She opened the door.

"Go on!" He walked in, to the chorus of his Grandparents. Genevieve followed suit, walking to kiss them all and hand her purchases to Helen discreetly.

"It was pay day today.' Charlie was explaining to Grandpa Jo, and the old man was smiling beneath his moustache. Charlie handed his Mum a large bread roll beneath his jumper. The whole room was silent for a moment.

"Why Charlie, it's wonderful, we'll have a real banquet." Helen laughed. Charlie then handed a coin to Grandpa Jo.

"Here Grandpa Jo, for your tobacco." He said but her father simply shook his head.

"When a loaf of bread looks like a feast, I have no right to tobacco." He murmured, his eyes dimming with shame. Genevieve smiled tightly at him and ruffled Charlie's hair. To break the awful tension Genevieve spoke up.

"So, who wants to help me set the table?" She asked with a clap, and Charlie rolled his eyes. The household settled into its usual routine, settling around the small TV as the newscaster said his piece. Then it was time for bed. Charlie and Genevieve climbed the ladder to the attic they both shared. There wasn't enough room for her and Helen to share downstairs, and even if it was only for a few more years until he grew too big, Genevieve was happy to share. She was a guest here, after all. As he lay down for sleep, on his own pallet, Charlie turned to face her. She herself was lying on her stomach, reading a book by the stub of candle she'd found in the bin behind a restaurant.

"Aunty Viv?"

"Yes, Charlie?" He put the book down, turning to face him.

"I saw a man today by the factory." Genevieve stilled her breathing, terror gripping her like a fist.

"Oh?" She murmured, trying to keep the panic from her eyes.

"I was just looking at the factory, and he came up behind me, scared the living daylight out of me!" She pretended to chuckle softly, reaching across the floor to grasp his hand.

"What did he look like?" She asked quietly and Charlie frowned.

"Like one of those tinkerers, you know? With a cart and everything." Genevieve felt relief wash over her all at once. She smiled softly.

"And?" She pressed.

"He said, 'Nobody ever goes in, and nobody ever goes out.'" Genevieve nodded seriously.

"And he's absolutely right Charlie. No one has stepped foot in that factory for more that 20 years." Her words trailed off sadly.

"Do you think you and I will see it one day, Aunty Viv?" Charlie asked ferverently and Genevieve licked her lips.

"If it's one thing I wish for you Charlie, it's that the world opens itself up to you." She said softly, stroking the top of his hand gently.

"Goodnight Charlie." She mrumured and he nodded.

"Goodnight Aunty Viv." He murmured. She pulled her book back to her, not really seeing the words. Jumping at shadows never did anyone any good, she reminded herself. And her shadow was far away from here.

 **OOOOOOOOOO**

 _Quotes:_

 _P T Barnum_

 _Martin_


End file.
